If I Could Talk to the Animals
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: They say on Christmas Eve, the animals can talk, but will the people listen? Written for 2016 Down the Chimney. this is a Mouth of Babes tale


Napoleon Solo stretched out his legs and grimaced. He wasn't exactly an overly tall man, but even so, his feet hung off the end of the bed. He sat up a bit, scrunching back into the pillows. That helped some. It would have helped more if it had been a full size bed, but his grandson's bed was made for a child, not a full grown UNCLE agent.

He picked up the book of Aesop's Fables that he'd been reading to his grandchildren and smiled. _The Ant and the Grasshopper_ was one of his personal favorites and he started rehearsing voices in his head.

His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of his youngest grandson. At three, Peter was all noise, knees, elbows and appetite. He grinned at his grandfather, displaying a gap in his front teeth.

"You lost your tooth today, Peter!" Napoleon made it sound like a grand accomplishment by adopting the tone he used to inspire his junior agents at UNCLE.

"I sure did, Grampy! It falled out all by itself."

"It fell out."

"I know. I was there!" The boy climbed onto the bed and over Napoleon to tuck himself in between the man and the wall. "Daddy says the Toof Fairy will leave me money. Samuel gots ten dollars for his toof. I hope the Toof Fairy loves me that much." Napoleon made a mental note to tuck a ten into his son's hand before going to bed that night. Like many young couples, Leon and Lisle lived very close to the edge. With the addition of the twins, there were four little mouths to feed and that meant every penny was watched and counted. "Do you think if I leave it for Santy tonight, he'll pay double since it happened on Chrifmas eve?"

A movement caught his eye and his oldest granddaughter entered. She had three years on Peter, but acted even older. At times, it was hard to remember that Irina was just a child. Frequently, she would become thoughtful and quiet. Napoleon sensed one of those times were upon them.

"Come on up, sweetheart. I saved you a spot." Napoleon patted the bed beside him and bright blue eyes studied him intently. It was shocking just how much they were like Illya's.

"Thank you, Grampy, although I am truly vexed."

"Irina, do you know what that word means?"

"Not really, but I think it means confused."

"That is very close. Where did you hear it?"

"Poppy used it."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Illya was careful not to talk down to his grandchildren and it often led to some very interesting conversations. "Can you tell me what is vexing you?"

"Poppy told us a story last night. He said his grammy used to tell it to him about how the animals can all talk on Christmas Eve."

"I know that story."

"Is it true? Can Poncho and Fairydust talk?"

Napoleon looked over at the beagle who was sleeping beside the bed. When his name was mentioned, his tail thumped. The cat was on top of the dresser that Irina shared with her brother. The older siblings had to share one bedroom while the younger Solos had the other. This apartment has been fine when there had been only two children, but now with four and the adults, it was bursting at the seams.

She climbed onto the bed, still studying Napoleon as Peter slid out, getting down onto his knees.

"Poncho can talk? I ain't heard him." He leaned closer to the beagle.

"It might be that you just haven't heard him."

Peter turned. "That's what I said!" Peter shouted. It was obvious he thought his grandfather was hard of hearing and Napoleon massaged one of his aching ears.

"You don't need to yell, Peter. Where is your other sister and brother?"

"I'll go find them."

"Stay out of Santy's cookies," Irina yelled as her brother ran from the room. "Honestly." Napoleon laughed, then grew somber. "What's wrong, Grampy? You look sad."

"You reminded me of my mother. She would say that all the time. I wish you could have met her. She would have adored you." Napoleon thought back to his mother, working at a cast iron stove, laughing and cooking, her two favorite pastime. It had been a hard life, but a good one.

"Me, too." Irina sighed. "Now getting back to the talking."

Napoleon nodded, grinned, his mood restored. "You don't lost track of a conversation, do you?"

"Uh huh. I got an A in paying attention from Miss Campbell."

"Well, if you are asking if animals can talk the way you and I do, no, they can't."

"Poppy was lying?"

"No, because I'll bet he didn't tell you that spoke like us. They talk in different ways. Like when TC—"

"Her name is Fairydust."

"All right, Fairydust rubs against you and purrs, what is she saying?"

"That she loves me."

"And when Poncho licks your nose?"

"That he's been in the trash again. It's a filthy habit. I think he picked it up from Peter."

Napoleon stifled a grin. "I agree, but he's also telling you that he loves you. Watch." Napoleon leaned over the edge of the bed. "Poncho?" The dog's tail thumped on the carpet. "What's he saying, Irina?"

"That he heard you."

"See? Animals do talk, but they communicate differently." Napoleon resumed his position against the pillows. "Do you understand?"

"Uh huh, but I don't –" Alex came running into the room, his cowboy hat hanging around his neck. "Grampy, you gotta come. Mommy is crying and Daddy is… well, you gotta come."

Napoleon was off the bed faster than a gunshot and hurried down the narrow hall to the living room. The Christmas tree, with its collection of construction paper garland and handmade ornaments twinkled in the corner. There was music softly playing and on the couch, Illya was holding his daughter, while Nessa, clutching a handful of papers, wailed. Leon, Napoleon's son through a brief rendezvous with Serena, a THRUSH agent, had his hands in his hair.

He spun as Napoleon entered. "How could you?"

"How could we what?"

"The cat is out of the bag, Napoleon," Illya said, rubbing his daughter's back. At time, she was very much like her mother Angelique, the product of a one-night stand between her and Illya. Now was not one of those times. Strong, resourceful and more than a little cocky, she seemed fragile and broken. "Nessa found the deed."

"When were you going to tell us?" Leon muttered.

"Tomorrow. It was supposed to be a Christmas surprise."

"Oh, it's a surprise all right. Since when do you two get to decide our future for us?"

"What?"

"Just buying us a house and telling us to get lost?"

"Leon, I'm not sure what you are talking about. Remember back in the summer when we took that drive?"

"Out to Long Island. I remember."

"We stopped and looked at some houses."

"Yeah."

"Remember that three story fixer-upper."

"You didn't…"

"That's why I'm crying." Lisle sat back and wiped her face. "They bought us that house. That wonderful, broken down utterly perfect house."

Leon's face blanked and then he grabbed his father and hugged him, lifting him off the floor. "You didn't."

"We did." Napoleon grunted and Leon set him down back down.

"But we'll be so far from you." Lisle's bottom lip started to tremble.

"Well, there's a catch, you see," Illya said, offering his daughter his handkerchief.

"What did you do, Dad?"

"In order to afford both a sizeable down payment and the repairs we wanted to do, we… ah, had to sell Napoleon's penthouse. The third floor was supposed to be a mother-in-law's apartment, so we finished it off. I'm afraid you're stuck with us."

"It only made sense," Napoleon added. "We're here more than we were home and you'll have built in babysitters and it'll be easier to secure one location than two – ask my personal bodyguards."

"You're gonna live with us, Grampy?" Alex asked, then whooped, grabbing Irina and dancing around with her. "Forever?"

"That's right or as close to forever as we can manage."

"Why's Nessa crying?" Irina asked, her brow creased. She didn't like any of her siblings to be upset.

"I wouldn't let her color their deed," Illya explained. He got up off the couch awkwardly, favoring his bad hip. He limped to a row of stockings and took one down. Carrying it back, he caught Alex's eye. "Go ahead."

There was another whoop and the two oldest raced for their stockings. Illya squatted down awkwardly. "Try this, little one." He eased the documents away from her and handed the red felt stocking to Inessa. Instantly, she was happily pulling things out of the stocking, her tears of moments ago forgotten.

Napoleon offered him a hand up and Illya took it.

"So when do we move?" Lisle asked, her tone hopeful.

"The movers will be here Monday."

"Two days? I have to pack everything up in two days?"

"No, you have two days to pack anything you don't want them to. They are going to pack up, move and unpack for you. That's the other part of the gift."

"And you two?"

"We've been there the better part of a month now."

"And all those nights I dropped you off back home?"

"We waved good bye and called UNCLE for a ride. Rank does have its privileges."

Lisle hugged Napoleon. "I keep waiting to wake up and find this is all just a dream."

"Not a dream," Napoleon hugged her back. "I hope it's what you want."

"It's what I've always wanted. A great huge loving family all under one roof is the answer to a long-held dream." She rested her head on his shoulder. "With Mom, I never thought it was possible and now." She kissed him. "Thank you both so much."

"It's the answers to a prayer for us, too." Napoleon winked at Illya. "We never thought we'd have kids, much less grandchildren."

"Speaking of such, I think there's some who need to hurry off to bed. You wouldn't want Santa to skip this house because you're all still awake."

"Gosh!" Alex dropped his stocking and was off like a shot. Irina had the good sense to take hers with her.

Lisle picked up Inessa and caught Peter's attention, pointing. "Off to bed, you two!"

"Santy, Santy, Santy!" Peter shouted and ran for his room.

"The neighbors downstairs will probably up you two up for sainthood," Leon said, shaking Illya's hand. "I can't thank you two enough for this."

"Believe me, it was our pleasure."

Irina listened to the adults talk for a bit longer. "Alex, what's is going to be like to not be able to hear people?"

"What do you mean?"

"We can hear the traffic and Mommy and Daddy and Grampy and Poppy, but the new house is so big. What's it going to be like?"

"Quiet."

"I know it'll be quiet, but I—"

"I mean, shut up. I'm trying to sleep."

"You're awful!"

"Yup, now go to sleep."

Irina glared at him and hugged her stuffed bunny closer. Her head was so full of lovely things, like a room of her own, all pink, and no stinky brother. Her eyes started to drift closed and then they snapped open. She hurriedly got out of bed and ran over to the dresser. She stood up on tiptoes and gave Fairydust a kiss on her soft fur. "Good night, Fairydust. I love you. Merry Christmas."

She raced back to bed and pulled up the blanket. She started to drift off to sleep.

"Good night, Irina. I love you, too."

"Do you love me, too?"

"Shut up, dog."

"Bite me, cat."

Irina sat up and rubbed her eyes. Fairydust was curled up in a tight ball at the foot of her bed and Poncho was on his back with his legs up in the air, sound asleep.

"Darn that Poppy," she whispered and laid back down.

Outside the snow trickled down and the night was filled with the wish of peace on earth and good will towards all people and even, quite possibly, little cats and dogs.


End file.
